


as though the world wanted him to be ready

by ohvictor



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Post-Canon, Super Bowl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohvictor/pseuds/ohvictor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe Ging isn’t the kind of dad that a kid would want to watch the Superbowl with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as though the world wanted him to be ready

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yukine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukine/gifts).



> Today was Superbowl Sunday and my friend Flint was pretty darn excited! And since Flint is the Gon to my Ging I ended up having an idea and spitting out this fic. I hope you like it!! See if you can catch a few references to some other things sprinkled in the fic. Much like Ging, I know nothing about sports, especially football, so some stuff might be inaccurate as well. I tried.

This is fine. This is, in fact, all according to plan. The element of chance is an integral part of letting everyone in the world except himself raise his child. Gon has a wide range of interests, only some of which he shares with Ging. He’s a good kid. He’s smart. He beat Greed Island, for goodness’ sake. He’s well-liked. Stronger than he has any right to be. Handsome. Friendly. Reliable. A hell of a lot of things that Ging likes in people, and a hell of a lot of things that Gon surely didn’t inherit from Ging. Maybe this is is just one of those things.

Ging stares again at the shopping list. There are only three items on it (“wings”, “soda”, and “chips and dip”), but all are underlined, with a scribbled addendum, “ _Buy as much as you can!! :)_ ” Gon’s enthusiasm is endearing, but Ging isn’t really a fan of wings _or_ chips and dip (the soda is fine enough, but in this context it’s still excessive), and this whole thing is a little...cultish. And not the fun kind of cult.

So maybe Ging isn’t the kind of dad that a kid would want to watch the Superbowl with. Ging is hardly a dad at all, and after what Gon’s been through he could hardly be called a kid. But Dwun insisted that this is what sons and dads _do_ , and it’s Superbowl season, and Gon had looked so excited when Ging suggested it. Ging never thought he’d be the kind of guy who turns to putty when his kid smiles, but here he is, looking for ridiculous Superbowl food two hours before the game. He even showered for this, which is probably not what people do when settling down to watch football and yell and eat greasy food, but Ging doesn’t want to be sweaty _and_ stinky in front of Gon.

He squints at the shopping list again, and then a noise down the aisle distracts him. Someone in a football jersey with a bird on it has stopped a guy in a different jersey with a-- How is that a mascot? It’s just a really pointy head. But Ging figures immediately that these are opposing teams--maybe _the_ opposing teams--because of context clues, namely the way the two guys start fighting over the last package of low-fat extra spicy buffalo wings.

“Hey buddy, my team is gonna make yours eat shit, you might as well hand those over now.”

“You wanna say that again?! Your team is nothing against _my_ team--”

Ging feels his Nen prickling at his fingertips, the instinct to chill out the situation and make his escape before these two cause any real trouble. So this is the true meaning of football. A few people have gathered to watch, and some cheer the guy in the jersey with the pointy head on, which only makes the bird guy angrier. Ging doesn’t stay to watch; he grabs the nearest package of wings and hurries off to find chips, ignoring with effort the urge to pick a fight.

\--

Ging ends up getting two bags of chips, two things of dip, a pack of soda, and one box of frozen wings. He tells Gon that the store was crowded, which is technically true, and Gon just nods. “This is enough. We can always order pizza if we get hungry.”

The next hour is spent getting ready, in Gon’s case, and pushing off an impending anxiety attack, in Ging’s. He swallows an aspirin when he starts to get a headache, and then hovers behind Gon in the kitchen, stomach too jumpy to handle the food himself. Luckily, Gon doesn’t seem to need help heating up the wings in the oven or setting out bowls for the chips, or with baking whatever dessert he’s excitedly telling Ging about. Ging worries that it’s obvious that he’s not absorbing what Gon is saying, but, again, Gon doesn’t seem to care. He’s so lucky. He doesn’t deserve a kid like this.

Maybe Ging just isn’t into football. Ging likes MMORPGs, and archaeology, and dogs, and being far away from people. Football is stressful and loud and pointless. Ging hates all of those things. The only good thing about it is that it makes Gon’s face light up every time it’s mentioned recently, but a _lot_ of things make Gon’s face light up, and Ging is getting more and more willing to find literally _anything_ else that would make Gon happy other than sitting and watching football with him.

“Hey, Gon...” Ging’s voice sounds pathetic even to himself. Gon turns from the oven to look at him curiously, and Ging’s throat closes up for a second. He can’t believe he’s about to do this. What a cop-out. “Maybe-- Maybe you should watch the, uh, game...with Leorio instead? He likes football, right?”

Gon’s face twists up into a scowl, and Ging’s heart stutters to a halt. Oh, fuck. He fucked up. This is supposed to be father-son bonding time, and he can’t even manage that. Or, no, what if it’s more than that? What if Gon and Leorio had a fight? What if Leorio hates sports? What if Leorio had some traumatic football-related past that only Gon knows about? That might be a little too drastic, but _fuck_ , suggesting Gon watch the game with Leorio had seemed at least a plausible alternative; how was Ging to know there would be a problem other than his neverending failure as a father?

“Okay, okay, no, nevermind--” Ging starts, but Gon shakes his head, cutting him off, with a prim little frown.

“No, Ging. I can’t watch the Superbowl with Leorio. Leorio is rooting for the Patriots.”

That one takes Ging a minute, but then he remembers the fight at the grocery store. It never occurred to him that his sweet little son could be _that_ kind of fan, but...actually, it’s sort of cute. Gon does get fired up about weird things.

“Oh,” says Ging. “And you’re sure a little friendly rivalry wouldn’t, uh. Make things more fun?”

Gon raises an eyebrow, his gaze chilling. (That expression is _definitely_ not inherited from Ging. In fact, it looks rather like Gon’s blond friend.) “I’d like to stay friends with Leorio, actually. That’s why I’m watching the game with you, because you don’t have any loyalties.”

Ging tries very hard not to interpret that statement broadly, and swallows, nodding. “Right. Okay. You thought everything through already. Just ignore me.”

Gon’s icy look is gone in an instant, melting into warmth and worry. “Oh, no, don’t worry, it was a good suggestion! Just...wrong.” He giggles. Knowing everything Gon has been through, it still amazes Ging when he can laugh like that, like a kid. Neither of them had much of a childhood to speak of, but at least Ging chose to have things that way. “Anyway, can you bring the chips out into the den and turn on the TV? I think the pregame stuff should be starting soon.”

Warm relief rushes through Ging. He didn’t fuck up after all. Gon is so much more than he deserves. He ducks his head, rubs a hand over his chin, and then grabs the bowl of chips and one of the dip jars. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

\--

“Holy shit, you didn’t tell me there would be _dogs_.”

Gon laughs. Ging doesn’t even care that he just swore in front of his teenage son. There are puppies on the TV screen. Admittedly, they are playing football, but puppies are puppies. Ging is a simple man. There are tears in his eyes. “Gon, if you wanted me to watch this, all you had to say was, ‘Ging, there are dogs.’ That’s it. I’m here. I’m anchored to this couch.”

Gon just laughs harder, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time! Anyway, I forgot about the Puppy Bowl.”

“You _forgot_... It’s called the Puppy Bowl? Like the Superbowl, but with dogs. This is ingenious. Anyone would watch this. This is an excellent idea. Are you getting this, Gon? They’re hitting so many niche markets. Dogs and football. I can’t believe this.”

“Ging,” says Gon, and he’s still laughing, and Ging realizes that part of him is overexaggerating his excitement over the dogs just to see Gon laugh, and he’s surprisingly okay with that. “Ging, the game starts in ten minutes.”

“ _What_?”

“But the dogs will be back! The Puppy Bowl airs on and off throughout the game.” Gon nods knowingly. “Plus, there are cool commercials. You won’t be bored, promise!”

“Maaaaaaan...” Ging grunts and flops back against the couch. “You better know how lucky you are that you’re getting me to sit still for an entire evening, _and_ while watching something mundane like football. You are one lucky kid.” He jabs his finger at Gon, who just grins.

“I know,” he says, cheeky. “Trust me, I’m not a big fan of sitting still for hours either. But just wait--you’ll get pumped up watching the game. Even Killua got excited watching it a few years back...” Gon’s eyes cloud for a moment, and he finishes with noticeably less enthusiasm. “He got pretty into it, too.”

Ging hesitates. Gon and Killua are on fine terms as far as he knows, but he also knows that Gon doesn’t like being so far from his best friend. That desire for closeness, for a constant companion, is another thing that he didn’t get from Ging; at any given time Ging’s closest friends are scattered around the globe, often unreachable by phone or any other easy means. And it’s hard, too, when Gon spent so much of his formative years with Killua by his side. Ging knows. Killua comes up in every conversation, hangs like an afterthought in all of Gon’s smiles. That’s what best friends do. Ging isn’t Gon, and his friends might be far away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about them.

“I bet,” Ging says finally. “You’re enthusiastic enough to make anyone care about football. And Killua probably liked the food, huh?”

Gon’s expression relaxes, the tension in his shoulders loosening, and he nods, the grin returning. “Yeah! Well, he was a little miffed about all the advertising... But he’d never had wings before, and he really liked them once he figured out that the mess is part of the fun.”

There’s more to the story, and Gon tells it, and Ging listens, and both of them relax. It’s not often that Ging can smooth over a bump in their interactions like this, and he is grateful, thinks maybe Killua would be proud of him for bringing Gon’s smile back. Not that he needs a teenager’s approval, but maybe this teenager specifically, who looked after his son so well.

\--

Gon can only do so much. The game is bearable, but Ging decides ten minutes in that it’s not an experience he cares to repeat. Still, it’s nice to watch Gon as he leans closer to the screen, chips and dip utterly forgotten, the light flickering on his face as he stares intently at the TV. Every now and then he yells and slaps his knees, triumphant, or he’ll groan and kick his legs up, actually making fists with his hands, and offer some excuse to the TV screen. “That was a close one!” or “Come on, come on, next time!”

It’s mesmerizing. It’s adorable. And it’s contagious. After a while, Ging finds himself echoing Gon’s reactions, slowly getting sucked into the game, riding the tide of Gon’s excitement. He doesn’t even know the rules of football, but he doesn’t have to know much to echo Gon’s yells and to follow the score on the TV screen. Maybe Gon can only do so much, but what he can do is leaps and bounds more than what Ging ever expected.

They said it would be like this. That no matter how old and world-weary you are, when you see the world through your kid’s eyes, it’s like you never saw it properly before. Maybe Ging is an old man and a skeptic, but maybe Gon is light, maybe Gon can make anyone believe in love, maybe Gon can have his nerdy introverted dad yelling and stomping his feet over the Superbowl. Gon’s worked miracles with less before. And deep down Ging had gone soft long before finally meeting Gon. As though the world wanted him to be ready.

Well, the world had underestimated Ging’s son.


End file.
